


That Kind of Comfortable

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Gen, M/M, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 11:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20007331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Geoff likes to think he’s done his time, put in his dues.Likes to think he’s suffered enough in life, and if the universe at large would just give him a fucking break any time now, that would be great.





	That Kind of Comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> Felt like writing something a little different. Set in the GTA V FAHC AU, but different. Because reasons. /o\

Geoff likes to think he’s done his time, put in his dues.

Likes to think he’s suffered enough in life, and if the universe at large would just give him a fucking break any time now, that would be great.

But no, no.

Because there the Vagabond is on his doorstep, bloodied up and looking like hell like it’s not the middle of the night and also storming out and there’s sure to be at least one more murder on the news in the morning.

“Hey, asshole,” Geoff says, tired and put upon and joints aching like hell because he’s an old fuck and the weather does a doozy on him. “Do anything interesting lately?”

The Vagabond sighs. Big heavy thing like Geoff is the one always trying his patience.

“Oh, not much,” he says, light and airy, tiniest hint of strain to it as he plays along. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by.”

Geoff should slam the door in his the asshole’s face and call the cops. Let them know about the whole Vagabond visiting him in the middle of the night (again) business, but - 

“Yeah?” Geoff says, undoing the chain and opening his door wider. “You look like you’ve had a rough night, buddy.”

The Vagabond hums, waggles his head like Geoff might have a point about that.

“Eh,” he says. “About the usual.”

That...that’s kind of the problem.

Geoff stares at the Vagabond for a long moment. Takes note of the blood on his mask, tear on the sleeve of his jacket that looks like someone with a knife got lucky. The way he’s doing his best not to favor his side and tries very hard not to sigh. (He doesn’t succeed, but damn does he try.)

“You know where the medical supplies are,” he says, and lets one of the most notorious men in Los Santos int his home instead of calling the police like he should. 

========

Geoff isn’t what you’d call an upstanding citizen.

He’s got infractions under his belt. Small things like traffic tickets and parking violations. A few drunk and disorderly offenses back when he was younger and stupider, before he got his life figured out – or what passes for it these days.

And even with all of that hanging around him, the Army still took him. Snapped up the idiot kid he’d been and did its best to make something of him, the way the recruiter claimed it would. After that he managed to trick the police department into giving him a chance, and they had a good run of it for a while there.

Geoff out protecting and serving and putting assholes and scumbags behind bars where they belonged, but then there’s been the Mitchel case and things had gone to hell. The job lost its shine and even with his captain backing him, there were too many reasons not to stick around. (Never knowing when he’d get a bullet in his back from people he was meant to trust was a major one.)

So going from that to whatever he is now - 

Well.

It’s a hell of a thing, is what it is.

Has his own little business as a private investigator (not much else he could think of doing with his particular skill-set, and also it had seemed funny at the time).

It’s a sweet gig, really.

Geoff gets to make his own hours. No dress-code, which is great because no boss breathing down his neck and side-eyeing him when he gets the itch for a new tattoo.

Not much like the television shows he used to watch growing up, All conspiracy after conspiracy brought to him by a client scared to go the cops. No murder mystery after murder mystery and flashy car chase scenes and back alley shootouts. 

No, Geoff mostly gets the wives of cheating husbands and estranged family members hoping to track down some deadbeat relative for legal matters. The occasional creep thinking he wouldn’t pick up on their shitty stalking by proxy and other shit like that.

Which makes the fact that he’s somehow got people like the Vagabond dropping in and out of his life a little surreal.

========

“You know,” Geoff says, swinging his feet as he watches the Vagabond stitch himself up. “A few years ago and I’d have arrested you by now.”

The Vagabond looks up from his work, and even though the mask in the way Geoff knows he’s getting a raised eyebrow. 

“You would have tried,” the Vagabond says, nice and level like they both know Geoff would have gotten his dumb ass dead in the attempt. 

Geoff makes a face at that because he’s not wrong about that. 

The Vagabond isn’t someone he’d like to run into in a dark alley, or even a well-lit street. 

Someone like him, the terror of Los Santos to go by the rumors floating around the city?

Yeah, no. Hard pass on that one.

Geoff’s an idiot, sure, but even he’s not that stupid.

The Vagabond snorts and goes back to piecing himself together while Geoff watches. (Hands curled tight on the edge of the bathroom counter he’s sitting on because the asshole is stubborn. Won’t let Geoff help even though there’s a slight tremor in his hand and his stitches are coming out uneven as hell.)

========

Trevor’s watching the news when Geoff gets to his office the next morning. 

Something about something and a hell of a lot of police cars and emergency vehicles on the scene while the reporter offers what they know about the situation. Speculation and guesswork based on what the police shared with them, the way the city works.

Unhelpful as hell because all it does is stir up fear and paranoia in an already paranoid city.

Trevor glances up when he sees Geoff, smile curling the corners of his mouth because the kid’s an asshole.

“There’s been another murder,” he says, thick southern accent and this laughter to it that ruins the effect he’s going for.

Geoff...he sighs.

Does a lot of that in his life these days.

Assholes like the Vagabond and Trevor bring it out in him.

“Color me surprised,” Geoff mutters, and takes a hefty swig of the coffee he picked up on the way to the office.

Trevor cocks his head, narrows his eyes.

Takes a good look at Geoff in all his sleep-deprived glory and puts the pieces together. (Clusterfuck of a crime scene on the news and Geoff looking like death warmed over?)

“Trouble sleeping?” Trevor asks, all sweetness and light and too smart for his own good. “Is it that stray you picked up again?”

Geoff bites back another sigh.

He regrets hiring the little shit sometimes, but he needed someone to keep his files organized. Keep him organized and figured since Trevor was the one least likely to run screaming when things got weird – they always do – he was the right guy for the job.

“You know what?” Geoff says, because it’s too damn early in the day to deal with Trevor’s nonsense. “Yeah. Yeah it was.”

Just about the best way to describe the whole Vagabond Situation when he thinks about it.

========

Geoff’s day isn’t very productive. 

He makes a few calls, follows up on a few leads. Reassures his current client he’s doing what he can, but trying to find someone in a city as big as Los Santos when they don’t want to be found is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. 

Trevor’s some help there, has contacts Geoff doesn’t and offers to make a few calls of his own to help even though it’s not in his job description.

“Silly Geoff,” he says - _pshaws_ \- “I’d like to get paid too, you know.”

There’s that, too.

Geoff’s private investigator business, employee count two. (Technically.)

Not quite raking in the money, but that’s never what it’s been about. 

Just Geoff and a shitty city and the thought maybe, possibly, he could do some good out there for someone. 

He stops by the corner grocery store on his way home, picks up things for dinner and has a nice little chat with the little old lady who runs the place. 

Sharp-eyed biddy with a sweet face and one hell of an arm on here, even now. (Cold-cocked a robber with a can of spaghetti sauce once.)

She smiles sweet as anything at him when she notices he’s buying enough for two - “Is it that stray of yours again, young man? - and throws in a freshly baked pie for free of charge despite his protests.

“You can’t keep doing this Maddy,” he says, but it’s a token effort. Hard to argue with a woman as stubborn as she is. 

Maddy laughs like she thinks he’s adorable and sends him on his way with a cheery wave and admonition to bring his nice young man by again sometime.

========

The Vagabond’s long gone by the time Geoff gets home, no sign he was ever there which is great for the whole plausible deniability thing Geoff likes to pretend he has.

He puts the groceries away and goes to take stock of his medical kit to see what he needs to replenish and take a moment to ask himself what the hell he thinks he’s doing.

Los Santos is a dangerous city, all kinds of weirdos and nutjobs out there. (The Vagabond, for one.)

Not the safest place for someone like him, always poking his nose in other people’s business. Picking up secrets here and there he really shouldn’t know, and yet - 

He likes it here for whatever damn reason. Likes the energy the city has to it, the way life just happens here. (Good and the bad and everything in between.)

People who end up here doing the best they can how they can. (Ones like him who don’t have anywhere else to be, no rush to leave even though they should.)

Geoff putters around for a while, checks missed calls and texts while he was shopping and goes through his mail. Tosses the junk mail and flyers into the recycling and sorts the rest by priority before shoving it all in a desk drawer to deal with later. (Part of the reason he needed someone like Trevor for his business.)

When he’s done his stomach is grumbling, so he gets up to make dinner. Hesitates when he opens the fridge because he’s never sure when that stray of his will show up, but figures if worse comes to worst he’ll have dinner for tomorrow night already made.

He’s just starting on the sides when his doorbell rings and has to laugh a little at the timing.

Taking the pan off the stove, he goes to answer it and feels his mouth stretch into a smile when he sees who it is. 

“Hey, buddy,” he says, “long time no see.”

Ryan huffs, like he thinks Geoff’s ridiculous. 

“Well you know,” he says, and shrugs. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by.”

He looks tired, and there’s this pinched look around his eyes. Wearing long sleeves even though they’re in the middle of one of the hottest summers Los Santos has seen in years and -

“You’ve got something there,” Geoff says, and reaches up to wipe a dark smudge away from Ryan’s face, and tries not to smirk when his hand comes away with a smear of black on his fingers. 

Face paint.

“Huh,” Ryan says, like they both don’t know about his little secret. “New make-up artist.”

Geoff doesn’t roll his eyes, just nods and plays along with Ryan and his whole...modeling thing. (It’s not a complete lie. Geoff’s found photos from past shoots, and every so often he’ll see a billboard with the smug asshole’s face on it.)

Still.

“Oh, yeah,” Geoff says. “I know how it is.”

He lets in Ryan in and tells him to make himself at home the way he always does and doesn't sigh when the asshole helps him finish making dinner instead.

“Hey, no,” Geoff says, lightly slapping Ryan’s hand away from the pie on the counter when the asshole makes a go at it when he thinks Geoff’s not looking. “Pies are for dessert, asshole.”

Ryan, a fully grown adult _pouts_ at him, rubbing the back of his hand like Geoff took a bat to it and gives him these truly pathetic puppy-dog eyes.

“But Geoff,” he says, all woeful and sad, poor little orphan all alone in this cold and cruel world. “ _Pie_.”

Geoff, heartless bastard that he is, hip checks Ryan away from the pie and towards the cutting board to finish chopping up the salad he insisted on helping with.

“Suck it up, buttercup. You’re just going to have wait until dinner’s over.”

Somehow the pout intensifies, but Geoff’s a stone-cold bastard who doesn’t budge. (Knows if he does Ryan will be even more insufferable than usual.)

Geoff keeps an eye on him, because Ryan’s the stubborn sort. Runs himself into the ground and forgets to look after his own well-being, runs himself into the ground time and time again. 

Which is fine, because Geoff is more than willing to do that for him, when Ryan will let him.

It’s taken some doing, getting through that thick skull of his, but Geoff’s learned the best things are worth the effort.

“So,” Ryan says, sliding a look at Geoff. “Anything interesting happen recently?”

Ryan’s been gone, you see.

Off on a photo shoot somewhere or other and out of town and far away from any goings on here in Los Santos.

Geoff slides a look right back at Ryan, sees that annoying little smirk of his.

One day, Geoff knows, trouble will come knocking at his door and it won’t be wearing a skull mask or sheepish little grin, but for now?

Well, he’s pretty good at handling what comes his way.

“Eh,” Geoff says, because this is a game they’ve been playing for a while now, stupid as it is. “About the usual.”


End file.
